


Sometimes It's Like This

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-10
Updated: 2009-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Porn Battle VIII, prompts: "pain, stunned, winding".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes It's Like This

The thing is, Matt's gotten really good at reading John's moods, so when he comes home with a verifiable rain cloud over his head, Matt turns ESPN way up loud and heads straight for fridge. There's still a few cans of beer in there, so he grabs one and turns, only to run right smack into the wall of muscle that is John.

Matt backs up what few inches there are left between him and the cold of the open fridge. His throat tightens at the look John gives the can.

"It's the only kind—" _they have_, Matt wants to say, only he can't, because John's hand is around his neck and he's being high holy hell kissed out of breath.

The unexpectedness of it is a rush and Matt doesn't know what to do, his hands going funny and the beer can clattering where it falls. But John apparently does, because the other hand is grabbing Matt's shirt and turning him, drawing his ass away from the coolant cold and up against the drywall hardness until he's a twisting mess of turned on jell-o held in place by the solid weight of John's chest and thighs.

Their teeth click as John insistently presses their mouth together, and it's easy to read the frustration in him that's just on the edge of dangerous. Matt's a little frightened, a little thrilled, a lot turned on and perilously close to coming when John breaks the zipper in getting Matt's pants open.

John shoves his hand inside and Matt's head falls back. This is sensory overload, the lack of foreplay making everything just that much brighter as the pleasure can barely keep up with the roughness of it. That's probably the only reason Matt doesn't come — John knows how to do that _easily_ but he's doing something else here, winding Matt up into an imitation of whatever it is John's feeling right now.

Matt wants to get there, his body's begging for it but John's hand is all wrong, pushing where it should pull and tugging where it should let go. He tries to say it out loud but John's tongue is having none of that so the request comes out mostly as a useless wet grunt. He pushes, but John just presses and _Jesus_ he's strong. Might as well be fighting a freight train right now.

But suddenly John lets go, and Matt's gasping, falling over almost double and shaking.

"Take your clothes off," John says. It isn't one of the quiet orders he makes all the time under the sheets, but one of the loud ones he uses in public to get Matt the fuck moving. "I said, take your goddamn clothes off."

Matt does, starting by pulling his shirt up, which is actually a bit of a struggle since his arms aren't obeying him very well. By the time he gets it off his head, John's gone, walking towards the bedroom and not even glancing back. Matt doesn't even consider following because he has his orders and he has to get his pants off somehow, wrestling with his stupid shoes as he does.

He's kind of surprised when John comes back still fully dressed, because Matt's just kinda standing there buck naked and now embarrassed. John pauses briefly, eyes narrowing a little as he appreciates. Matt should be used to that look, but it's different like this, in daylight, in the kitchen, with John still wearing his stupid jacket for crying out loud.

Matt doesn't have to stew on that long, because then John's coming forward. It happens quickly, John's callused hands maneuvering and lifting, and suddenly Matt's losing his balance, ass up on the table and falling backwards until his shoulder blades hit the hard surface. His head just barely thumps the fake wood, not enough for a concussion, but still John's not stopping, hands over Matt's skin and opening him up in a race for the finish line.

The first push is a blunt and heavy, forcing Matt to skid up the table a couple of inches. Matt automatically reaches up, hands grabbing the edge of the table, and pushes back down to meet John. That just about does it, John's pistoning away and Matt's just barely hanging on while his body figures out how to process what's happening to it.

It's not like he's even really there, everything's hot and tense and Matt can't summon the will to move — which is probably okay because John's doing all the moving, grunting with the effort of each hard thrust. Matt's wanted it like this, he's fantasized about it being like this but right now he's not even entirely present to enjoy it because there's just too much going on.

Matt forces himself to look down. John's face is flushed, his jacket is _still on_ and he's really concentrating on the task at hand but the scowl's not directed at Matt — or even at himself.

Matt croaks through dry lips, "Wait, wait, stop. John, John? _Stop._"

John lets out a harsh groan, one hand coming down to hit the table just outside Matt's hips. He looks up at Matt, very much pissed off, but he does stop. "_What?_"

Matt reaches down and adjusts John's hands, getting them to the juncture of his thighs. He leans a little, and has just enough balance to get his ankles hooked together behind John's head. "Okay, go."

John tilts his head a little, considering. Then he pushes in again and his eyes fall shut. He breathes softly, "Yeah."

Matt's thinking the exact same thing. His hands go back above his head, leverage right, and now he's ready for it. It doesn't take long for John to get his momentum back, and Matt's right there waiting for him. The urgency is the same but it's a slightly different sort of burning now, lighter and hotter as it scorches from within.

Matt's shaking, but he's not even there yet. It's overwhelming because he can see what's coming: it's going to be epic and he just might get that concussion after all. He'd even forgotten to touch himself, so the large hand that curls around his erection makes his whole body jerk, shoulders lifting slightly then dropping to hit the woodgrain again.

This is just unbelievable. What John's _doing_ to him is unbelievable, and a tiny thread in Matt's fevered mind registes that the kitchen window is right there, curtains parted and _shit,_ anyone looking would see Matt naked and helpless on the kitchen table, legs in the air while John, still near-fully-clothed, pounds right into him.

It's enough to make anyone hysterical. Matt's feeling that, plus a lot of other things — kinda slutty, kinda crazy, kinda amazing because John _wants him_ like this — and that's the final straw.

Matt's coming, hot and messy, cursing loudly and holding to the table for dear life. But right behind that _John_'s coming with a fierce shout of his own, and Matt clings on to that knowledge, riding it out while his right shoulder twists almost painfully into the table.

Matt shudders through the aftershocks, gulping for the air that surely hadn't been there just a minute ago. As the weight quietly lifts, he starts making some truly stupid noises, whimpering softly and just kinda flopping against the table like he's fallen and can't get up, only that it's a royal fucking that got him this way.

Matt's brain is hazy, there's a little bluish tinge to the world now which means he's about to pass out. But before he does, he feels John's lips on his own, tender and soft as they whisper, "Thank you."


End file.
